The Pleasure Slave

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

You Must Thank Your Master Immediately And Frequently For Any Boon Or Punishment

Her resolve to keep Tristan away from Julia's Treasures crumbled.

She didn't want to send him back inside his box, didn't want to leave him at home alone. He would have vehemently protested such an occurrence, anyway, and being the hopelessly infatuated, desperately aroused woman that she was—she'd had to listen to his breathing all night as the raw maleness of his scent wrapped around her—she wanted to make him happy.

So the very next day Julia dragged him to work with her.

How did he thank her? By ignoring her all morning and hacking up another phone.

"Why in the world did you destroy yet another phone?" she demanded the moment her last customer departed.

From his stool behind the cash register, Tristan regarded her with a why-aren't-you-on-your-knees-thanking-me glance. "I would rather walk across a stream of jagged talons than listen to that shrill, bansheelike screech again."

Her nose wrinkled in vexation. "You destroyed my telephone because it rang?"

Unfazed, he lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"That's the second one you've murdered."

"You are welcome."

"I most definitely am not thanking you." Frowning, she began tidying a shelf of colorful glass vases. "This is a business. Now my customers have no way to contact me."

"A cause for celebration, surely."

"Phones aren't cheap, you know," she grumbled. Okay, so they weren't that expensive. "I'm taking this out of your salary."

"Since I refuse to take your money," he said, his tone as sour as her mood, "the situation works to my advantage. And while I am now in the mood to talk, explain to me why you are wearing drocs instead of a new gown."

"These pants are new."

"I did not choose them."

"Sexy clothing is not appropriate in the workplace."

The bell above the door chimed, preventing him from commenting. Tristan and his murderous scowl were forgotten as Julia focused her attention on Mrs. Danberry and the little dark-headed child she held.

"Do you need protecting?" Tristan asked. Julia leveled him a glance over her shoulder.

"No. For God's sake, stay where you are." Forcing her expression to relax, she returned her attention to her customer. "May I help you?"

With Julia distracted, Tristan swept the hacked-up phone into the trash, then settled back on his stool, hands locked behind his head. What was he going to do with this woman? He still did not know. This dawning, she had bounced out of bed after a peaceful, undisturbed rest. He knew exactly how well she'd slept because he had lain awake on the floor, listening to her breathy sounds of slumber. Several times, while they readied themselves for another day at this shop, she had tried to draw him into conversation about the weather, then about his home, yet he had not responded. Uncertainty still ate at him.

He felt as if he were standing on a precipice, one moment ready to forget his control and discipline and simply enjoy her, the next wanting to prove he was impenetrable to softer emotions. The two needs warred within him, slashing against the other. Whichever direction he jumped, he suspected he would wish he'd taken the other.

How Zirra would rejoice if she knew the extent of his frustration. He had never been so torn, and a woman had never resisted him quite so determinedly. Where were his legendary skills of seduction that no woman could resist? He had once thought he understood women, and himself, yet he found himself thinking again that he was unprepared to deal with Julia and her hope to win Puny Peter.

A tide of possessiveness crashed through him, whipping with the force of a mighty wave. I want to enjoy her, he finally admitted, fists clenched so tightly his bones almost snapped, discipline be cursed. The answer was as clear as if he'd known all along, accepted even, that this was the way it would be.

He wanted this woman, wanted to embrace her every nuance, and hold nothing of himself back. Instead of the horror he'd envisioned with such an admission, he felt oddly at peace. He would be the man who unleashed Julia's full passion, who showed her just how delightful all pleasures of the flesh could be. He would be the one to savor her reactions.

Not Puny Peter.

That idiot was not good enough for her. Tristan knew it. Soon, too, would Julia.

Just how was he to win this stubborn and completely illogical woman?

Mayhap all she needed was more convincing, a gentle hand to guide her, he thought, relaxing into the hardwood seat. A smile curved his lips, and he closed his eyes. He'd learned through experience that Julia responded more favorably to demonstrative measures. Mmm… how would he demonstrate sensual indulgence?

Anticipation made his fingers itch and a thousand possibilities raced through his mind. By Elliea, he would try them all.

Julia tried to concentrate on her customer. She really did. But her attention continually strayed toward Tristan, all sleek muscle and masculine strength. With his features relaxed and his mouth curved in a half smile, he looked so serene, almost boyish, beguilingly innocent. Not the sensual master she knew him to be.

A woman could become addicted to the fire and delight found in his arms. He knew just where to kiss, suck and lick; knew just where to touch, both lightly and more forcefully, to bring optimum pleasure. She tried to hide her now-pebbled nipples behind a shelf of Oriental figurines. Resisting him was proving more and more difficult. But resist his allure she must.

Peter was her first priority. This wanton side to her she was only now discovering, a side that demanded release more and more frequently, demanded she give in just once and experience the passion Tristan stirred inside her, must be ignored. What could she have with him besides momentary passion? A lifetime of insecurity, that's what.

"Oh, that is marvelous," a female voice said, breaking into her thoughts. Mrs. Danberry held the little girl with one hand, and the corncob pipe in the other.

"I'm glad you like it," Julia said. "I thought of you the moment I saw it."

"Oh, no, dear. Not the pipe. The man." Mrs. Danberry motioned to Tristan with a tilt of her chin. "Marvelous specimen, really. He's grade-A sirloin. Not at all like my Weston. No, Weston is more like tofu. A cheap imitation. I like the corncob pipe, too, of course. It's lovely." The toddler tugged on her hand. "Stand by me, Shonna, and don't touch a single thing. Shonna's my granddaughter, you know," she told Julia. "The dear angel is the light of my life."

"I can see why," Julia replied. "She's beautiful."

"Thank you." Mrs. Danberry turned her attention to the pipe. "I must have it for my collection. But you knew that, didn't you?"

Julia smiled and gazed down at the little girl who looked so bashful as she stood quietly beside her grandmother. "May Shonna have a lollipop?"

"Oh, yes, of course," came the distracted reply.

Kneeling down, Julia said in her gentlest voice, "Hello, there. I love your dress. It's very pretty."

Shonna's big blue eyes widened, and she shifted from one flowery shoe to the other.

"Would you like a lollipop? I have chocolate and strawberry, cotton candy and tropical punch."

The little girl stuck two fingers in her mouth, glanced to her grandmother, who nodded encouragingly, then looked to Julia with a nod of her own.

"You can pick any flavor you want." Julia clasped her small, delicate hand and led her to the register where she kept a glass canister full of sweets. Shonna scrutinized every piece, and soon strands of midnight hair fell across her cheeks.

With her coloring, she could've easily passed for Tristan's child.

For the space of time unmeasured, Julia forgot to draw in a breath as wave after wave of desire flooded her. What would it be like to have Tristan's baby? To become his wife? Her mind readily supplied the answer to both questions: heavenly. A slight moan grew in her throat as her mind threw out two more questions: What kind of woman could make him forget his abhorrence to love and win his heart?

And would falling for Tristan be so bad?

Her stomach performed a slow, painful flip as she pitted the joys against the ramifications. Bad? Oh, no. That word didn't come close to describing such an occurrence. Terrible? Close. Disastrous? Without a doubt. A relationship with him was doomed to fail and leave a trail of heartache—her heartache—in its wake.

"I have to tinkle, Grandma," Shonna suddenly shouted, the sheer power of her lungs resounding from floor to ceiling.

Mrs. Danberry sent a beseeching look to Julia. "May she use your rest room, dear?"

"I'm so, so sorry, but it's still broken." She was going to pulverize her landlord, the miserly jerk. There wasn't time for Tristan to play handyman—if he even knew what tools to use. He probably didn't, Arcadian knowledge being so advanced and all. "There's one next door."

"Oh, gracious. Well, we'd best hurry. Shonna's just out of diapers, you know." Mrs. Danberry paid for the pipe and hustled her granddaughter toward the door. "I'll see you soon, dear," she said, waving. "Give that sexy man of yours a naughty kiss for me." With that last, parting remark, she disappeared past the door.

Julia once again found herself alone with Tristan. And once again found her body perking with arousal. Time to finish her lessons. Before her resolve raced past the borders of no return, she squared her shoulders and marched to Tristan's chair.

"Tristan," she said, her determination a tangible pressure within her chest.

Slowly his eyelids opened, and she found herself sinking into the pale violet depths of his gaze. "Aye," he said, his voice scratchy. Sexy.

"I'm ready to learn how to flirt." The words tumbled from her mouth. "Will you teach me?"

"Aye, I will teach you to play the wanton," he said. Then he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "You are almost making this too easy, sweet."

Too easy for what? Instead, she asked, "Are you ready to begin?" Best to get this over with as soon as possible. Oh, please. Who are you trying to fool, Julia Anderson? Anticipation hummed just below the surface of her skin. Anticipation for his attention, his kiss, his touch… and no other.

He regarded her intently, as if seeing her on a deeper level, as if seeing more of her than any other person ever had. "You have needs to begin here? Now?"

"Now." She nodded. He rose to his feet, his face suddenly devoid of emotion. The lack of feeling he reflected gave him a dangerous aura of mystery and resolution. He leaned one hip against the counter. The white T-shirt he wore hugged his biceps, outlining every ridge of muscle, and his bleached jeans rode low on his waist, the top button unsnapped. His gaze traveled the length of her.

"You need a gown for what I have in mind," he said.

A tide of unease swept along her thoughts. "I have a skirt in back." She always kept a spare set of clothing here in case of an emergency. "But I'm not changing."

His brows winged in challenge. "As I am in charge during a lesson, you will do as I say, and I say you will change."

"Fine." She threw her hands in the air. Why did she even attempt to argue with him? He always won. "I'll meet you in my office when I finish."

"Do you desire my aid, simply call out."

"Yeah, sure," she said dryly as she recalled his peeping tendencies. She locked the storage-room door before undressing. Even though she suspected foul play on Tristan's part, she wiggled into a plain brown ankle-length skirt.

"You better not try anything funny," she told him as she entered the small office. The lights were dimmed. "This isn't a game. Flirting is serious business."

Looking completely at ease, he reclined in the swivel chair behind the desk and frowned. "I take my role as educator very seriously, little dragon."

"Then you should know I learn best through oral instruction."

"Aye, I very much like your idea of oral training." Two fingers stroked the smooth skin of his jaw, his expression pensive. "How shall we go about this?"

"We—"

"Uh-uh-uh, Julia." He leaned forward. Shadows veiled his features but for a single bar of lamplight illuminating his eyes. "As I am the teacher, the answer is for me to decide."

She gave him a sarcastic military-style salute. "Yes, sir."

That earned her another frown. "I would see you walk."

"That's it?" Disappointment rang loud in her tone. "That's how you're going to teach me to flirt? By watching me walk?"

"Aye. There are many ways to entice a man, and proper gliding is one of them."

"Oh." In a strange sort of way, that made sense. "Very well, then."

Concentrating on every step, she strode past him, turned, then retraced her path. By the time she finished, he was seated on the edge of the desk, shaking his head.

"I am not exactly sure if you were walking or marching to the beat of a war drum. Try again. Slower this time, swaying your hips with every forward motion."

"All right." Heeding his instructions, she glided by him, exaggerating and swaying for effect. Only, the heel of one shoe bumped the toe of the other. Julia pitched forward, face first. She landed in a heap on the floor.

Her ankles didn't survive. Neither did her pride. Tristan uttered a long-suffering sigh. "Mayhap we will work on your walk later," he said.

Mortified, she lumbered to her feet and cursed her throbbing ankles. "I may never walk again."

"Do not be embarrassed. With some more training, your hips will be a seductive mating call no man can resist."

"Really?"

"Really." Tristan hid his amusement behind his palm. Except for the tumble, Julia had strolled like a seductress.

However, he planned to make this lesson last for days, weeks, months if necessary, so he could not, would not tell her of her feminine allure.

"For now, though, we will allow your knees time to heal."

He stood and sauntered around the desk. When he reached Julia, he latched his palms under her arms and lifted. Higher. Higher still.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, her feet dangling a good three feet from the floor. He didn't offer her an explanation. He simply eased her buttocks atop of the edge of the desk. Stacks of papers rained onto the carpet. Without pausing, he slipped her skirt over her knees, past her thighs, revealing the creamy length of her legs. He gave her new position a once-over, then smiled.

"Much better."

"For you, maybe." Locked in place as she was, Julia felt helpless and vulnerable and aroused. A permanent condition whenever Tristan was near, she was beginning to realize. "Shouldn't I take notes or something?"

"Nay. You will remember everything I teach you."

"But what if—"

"Enough." He waited until her lips closed before continuing. "Because of our bargain, it is my right to give orders and your right to take them." He loved reminding her of that fact. "You will remember."

"Ok—"

Lightning quick, he covered her mouth with his hand. "No speaking unless you have first gained my permission. Understand?"

"Fine," came her muffled reply. Since he had spent the past thousand years obeying orders, Julia figured he was due to issue a few. She didn't mind, though. After all, he was doing this to help her.

"We will begin anew." With a satisfied nod, he removed his palm. "Flutter your lashes for me."

"Flutter my lashes? Women don't actually do that anymore, do they?" An exasperated sigh parted his lips.

"As I told you before, there is more to enticement than mere words. You must use every part of your body. Now flutter."

She did as instructed.

He shook his head and frowned. "Enough games, little dragon. How can I teach you if you refuse to cooperate?"

Insulted, she sputtered, "I'm not playing. That's the best damn fluttering I can do."

"Hmm." Long fingers stroked his jaw. "We have much to do then."

She groaned and nibbled her bottom lip with her teeth.

"How long will this take?"

"Many cycles, mayhap," he said, his lavender eyes darkening. "Or maybe even an entire season." Many months, perhaps even an entire year, of intense flirting practice with Tristan? Could her body systems take it? No! Which meant she had to work harder. So she spent the next hour diligently practicing her eyelash flutter.

It would have been an innocent enough lesson had Tristan kept his fingers off her thighs. Every time a customer entered, she had to shove him away, hop to the floor and don a respectable business persona, which meant smoothing her skirt from her waist and dousing the lust in her eyes. Both of which only managed to increase her anticipation for the lesson's continuance.

The instant she and Tristan were alone again, she always jumped back on the table, eager to pick up where they'd left off. Roaming hands and all. Finally Tristan deemed her flutter acceptable and moved on. "Next, we will work on your come-hither smile."

"Excellent." A seductive smile was something every woman needed in her man-hunting arsenal. How could she attract a man—Peter—if she couldn't grin properly? "What should I do?"

"You must smile, of course."

Okay.

"How's this?" The corners of her mouth lifted wide.

"No, no, no. Lips closed." With gentle fingers, he manually moved her lips into a half grin. The heat of his fingertips sent currents of need pulsing along her nerve endings. "Much better. Now, using only facial expression, make me believe you wish to lick my entire body."

That shouldn't be a problem since the desire to do exactly that suddenly bombarded her! How easy it was to picture Tristan naked beneath silk sheets. Hot, moist skin. Hazy candlelight. Soft, lyrical music. Her body would inch over his, and her tongue and teeth would rake against his skin.

Tristan watched Julia's eyes darken with dreams, the edges of her mouth soften with desire. A hard lump formed in the back of his throat. He gulped. "That is enough." His voice emerged hoarse, cracked. When she didn't alter her expression, he commanded, "Blink, curse you. Blink."

Julia blinked and the cloud of desire surrounding her cleared.

"Let's move on to something a little easier for you," he muttered after clearing his throat. "I have decided sensual expression is not for a beginner."

"I failed?" she asked, her tone dripping with disappointment. "Give me another chance, Tristan. Please. I can get it right. I know I can."

"Nay." If she dared glance at him like that again, he would strip the clothes from her body and take her here and now, her customers be damned. "You will work on expression by yourself. Here we will work on erotic speech. Close your mind to everything else and consider what you would say to a man you desire. A man you wish to bed."

"I've, uh, never been on a real date, so I'm not exactly sure what's appropriate."

"I am glad you have not practiced with others. Their inept teaching would only hamper your progress." He stroked her cheek with his fingertips gently, tenderly. "Worry not. We will do this step by step."

"Step by step," she agreed. Heat tingled a fiery path exactly where he touched. He had such large hands, she thought, hands capable of destroying everything in their path. And yet he treated her with such care. He always kept the true force of his strength under tight restraint.

"Pretend for the moment that you are trying to seduce me," he said.

Nervous flutters twisted her stomach, and for a moment, her tongue thickened, making any speech, especially erotic, impossible. She gulped. "I'm not sure—"

He cut her off. "We do this my way, Julia."

"Your way." She didn't dare explain that his words evoked a primitive desire for the forbidden, to do exactly what he'd said and seduce him. Or that the air around her suddenly seemed sultry and lightly scented with arousal. Or that desire pooled between her thighs, and in her mind she pictured her body sinking down onto his, his eyes a mesmerizing shade of violet and passion as she rode him.

Tristan sucked in a rough breath. "You will cease that at once," he barked.

His fierceness surprised her, and she jerked back to reality with a gasp. "What? What did I do?"

"You had donned another erotic expression. I recall expressly forbidding you to do that in my presence."

"Sorry," she managed. At the moment, she was acutely aware of her too-tight nipples, of the needy ache causing her veins to throb, and the way her skin felt too constricted for her bones. Suddenly irritated with him—and herself—she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Careful, little dragon, or I might take you up on your offer and suck that tongue of yours into my mouth."

Eyes blazing with heat, he tapped a fingertip against his chin.

"Now then. You wished to seduce me, did you not?"

Perilous lessons, she lamented, swallowing back a bolt of pure desire.

"Yeah, I wish to seduce you." He nodded, smiled.

"Admitting your desire is the first step."

"And the second?"

"Thinking of the words that incite sexual hunger. Words such as cock. And breasts. Rapture and bliss."

Tides of rapture and bliss followed his words, along with images of his hands on her breasts, and her hands on his cock. She had trouble drawing in her next breath.

"And what do I do with these words?"

"Use them. That is the third step. You may begin."

"Wait!"

"If you succeed, we will work on playful bantering next."

Smug and all too sure of her failure, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"If not, we will begin again tomorrow. Are you prepared for this challenge?"

"I think so," she lied.

"Then what is the first thing you say to gain my attention?"

"I—well—I…»

"Wrong."

"I want you?"

"Better." He gave her a bone-melting smile of approval. "What else?"

"You make me hot?"

"And?"

Because he thought her words were pretend, a sense of freedom surfaced, deflating her reservations and eradicating her need for constraint. She stared into his eyes, searching his soul.

"You drive me wild whenever you enter a room. You make my pulse leap and my body tremble. I would say you're tender and caring and gentle, and I feel safe when I'm with you. I would say… I would say that I want you more than I want to take my next breath."